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When I first learned about the tragic deaths of eight innocent individuals in Atlanta, six of whom were Asian women, a wave of despair washed over me. The recent rise in violence and hatred directed towards people who look like me and my family had reached an alarming new height. A torrent of fears surged through my mind. Was this a pivotal moment? Would the situation only deteriorate from here?
After sharing my deep sadness and concerns with my wife, who is Caucasian, we agreed that I should have a conversation with our older children about these distressing events. Discussing senseless violence and loss with kids is challenging, but unfortunately, I’ve had my share of difficult discussions regarding the murder of George Floyd, the Capitol insurrection, and the racism faced by Asian Americans.
My wife and I want to ensure our kids understand the context of current events, especially those that align with our family’s values of social justice and our biracial background. Although I may never find the perfect words, I believe that creating imperfect, teachable moments is far better than leaving my kids in ignorance or relying solely on hearsay.
I didn’t want to rush the conversation, so I took a day to process my feelings about the events. I wanted to be composed when speaking to my children. The next day, I gathered my two oldest daughters, ages 10 and 8, and asked them to sit down for a chat. I let them know I wanted to discuss something troubling that had happened.
Tailoring my explanation to their developmental levels, I shared that something sad had occurred involving a man who killed eight people, six of whom were Asian women. I expressed my distress over the loss of life and the fact that some victims looked like us. I reminded them of our previous discussions about hatred and violence against Asians, noting that this has been an ongoing issue, particularly exacerbated during the pandemic due to the virus originating in China.
As I concluded the conversation, I found myself facing the most difficult part. I didn’t want to end on a negative note or instill fear in them. So, I assured them that they would be safe. Although I couldn’t guarantee this, it felt necessary to say. To further reassure them, I mentioned that these events happened far away on the other side of the country.
Once we finished our talk, it hit me—I had lied. I had no way of guaranteeing their safety. Data from organizations like Stop AAPI Hate indicates a rise in hate incidents, including in our home state of California. Just the week before, I learned about an attack on an Asian man in a nearby community. Beyond physical violence, my family could face various forms of hate, including verbal harassment and vandalism.
Why did I choose to lie to my kids and tell them they would be okay? Primarily, I felt an overwhelming need to protect them. As a parent, one of my responsibilities is to prepare my children for the world’s realities. That’s why I wanted to inform them about these tragic events. However, I didn’t want to frighten them into a state of total fear. That wouldn’t be protecting; it would be paralyzing. So, I misled them by saying they would be okay.
Secondly, as an Asian man, I often fall into the stereotype of lacking emotional awareness—both in recognizing my feelings and expressing them. I’ve spent my life suppressing those emotions, convincing myself that they hinder my ability to function both at work and home. I also hesitated to share the deep anger and hatred I feel towards those perpetuating this violence, fearing that I would lose control. Therefore, I lied and told them they would be okay.
Lastly, I was uncertain about what actions were being taken to address this troubling situation. If I had concrete steps to share that were being implemented to combat anti-Asian violence, I would have loved to tell my kids about them. But in that moment, I had no glimmer of hope to offer. It felt as though only Asian Americans were concerned about this issue. The best comfort I could provide was to deliver vague reassurances that sounded nice. So, I lied and said they would be okay.
I look forward to the day when I can genuinely tell my children they will be safe without it being a lie. In my darkest moments, I worry that this day may never come in my lifetime or theirs. Yet, in my most hopeful moments, I envision families like ours coming together to advocate for meaningful change.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, an Asian father grapples with the responsibility of discussing recent violence against the Asian community with his children. He shares his internal conflict about wanting to protect his kids while also preparing them for harsh realities. Ultimately, he admits to misleading them about their safety, driven by a desire to shield them from fear and his own emotions.
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